In the afternoon heat, I wipe the sweat off my brow, looking at the hard work I’ve just finished. The field is almost finished being plowed, ready to be seeded for this year's harvest. I can’t wait to prove myself to my family that I’m strong enough to help with the real farm work.
My name is Jian. I’m a Saxum who lives in the southern reaches of the world, on a farm owned by my family. We’re not royalty, but my father made a whole lot decades before I was born, so now I work on the huge estate.
Selling the crops of each harvest to the village is something I love to do. It’s a great thing to give back to the people of our community.
My father says I’m too much of a softie to be a real man, but my mother thinks there’s no harm in having a gentleman as a son.
As I look at my hard work, I feel the soft tremors through the earth, something that tells me someone is walking up to me. I can feel each vibration through the earth, some louder than others.
Most of the time I block out my senses of the tremors, like the softer ones that indicate worms or other animals below. But the louder ones I pay attention to, telling me that someone is coming.
Turning around, I see it’s my father. He’s about 20 feet away from me, his big burly arms crossed as he makes his way toward me.
I gulp. My father is constantly pressuring me to be the “ideal man”. He wants me to be strong and tough, and to take over the farm when he’s retired. But I don’t really want to farm. As much as I’ve asked him, he won’t let me go out and explore the world. I’m just sick of staying in one place when there’s the whole world out there.
“Hello, Jian.” my father says coldly, his green eyes staring at the fully plowed field, “I see you’ve finished your chores early.”
“Yes, father.” I avoid his eyes. He’s not even proud of me. I’ve put so much effort into this, and all he does is give a glance of the eye.
“Well, that should give you plenty of time to plow the next field.” My father says as if that’s an easy task for me. He points to the field that will be designated for corn. “This one should be plowed by sunset.”
My eyes widen. It took me two days just to get this one field plowed. And now he wants me to plow the next one in a few hours?
My father starts to walk away but I stop him. “Father, I’ll need more time to plow the next field. I can’t get it done in such a short amount of time.”
He turns around and glares at me, eyes flaring. “You will get it done before sunset or you are no longer my son! We need this farm ready for planting the crops, and all you’ve been doing is as little work as possible! I would never have raised a man like this!” He starts to storm off again, but I’m so sick of him being so hard on me.
“No,” I say, standing my ground.
“No?” my father demands as he looks back at me. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, and throw my hoe aside, proving my point.
“You will plow the next field, or I will never see you again! Sunset, Jian, sunset.” My father says, storming off before I can argue.
I feel his footsteps tremor through the ground until they fade with the distance he is going away from me. When I can’t feel his footsteps anymore, I look over at the field. I can’t possibly finish it before sunset. What can he expect from me?172Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhctAl31KoE
Obviously the impossible.
But I can’t let him disown me. As much as I hate my father, I can’t leave him alone with my mother. He gets mad easily, and although she never tells me I notice the subtle bruises on her arms and neck after he gets drunk. I can’t leave her with him. I can’t.
As I start to realize the impossibility of my situation, I begin to panic. What should I do? There’ll be hell to pay if I don’t get this field plowed but I can’t leave my mother.
In my anger, I pick up the hoe once again and throw it like a spear across the field. Screaming in anger, I fall to the ground on my knees. No. I can’t get mad. I’ve seen what happens when my father gets mad. I need to be my mother, the peacekeeper.
So, what should I do?
I have to run. I have to run away. If I can’t finish this field I will not be welcome at my house. So if I can’t finish plowing it, I’ll have to run away.
But I can’t run away with nothing. If I did, I wouldn’t survive a week. I have to do something I don’t want to do.
I have to steal from my own house.
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I stand below the window of my father’s office, my heart beating like a drum against my chest. I’ve always hated this manor anyway, but I have to save my mother as well. I have to take her away from my father. I have to save her more than myself.
Sometimes I wonder why she ever married my father. She told me once that he wasn’t always like this, that he was a gentleman and very kind to her when they first married.
Then she had me.
My father’s hated me since the moment I was born. I’m a disappointment to him, not enough to make him proud.
Now I stand here underneath his office, ready to steal from my own father. As much as I don’t like him, it still kills me to steal from my own house.
I shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, but I can’t see any other choice.
I quietly concentrate on the earth for a moment, pushing myself up a little by moving the earth at my feet. Father never taught me how to use my earthly powers, but I’ve been practicing a little. I’m not the best, but I’m getting better.
I jump on the windowsill, and push the earth back where it was, the ground having a rough line where I moved it.
I peek into the window. It’s dark inside.
I take a deep breath, calming my panicked lungs. I’ve never been this sneaky before, never stolen before. I feel sinful just being here. But I hope my mother can understand. She always does.
Now I put my fingertips under the window and gently pull it up. My father never locks the windows or doors because he’s so proud and stubborn to think that anyone would steal from him.
I look inside the office again, which is dark except for the soft glow of a candle in the corner of the room.
I jump into the office, and quietly shut the window. I’ve only been in here a few times, only because my father needed to scold me.
I walk around the room a little, looking for the small chest he keeps his valuables.
I’ve seen the chest only once before, when he counted his profits in front of me, telling me how we needed to raise the profits, making him richer. I try to remember where he put it, and then it hits me.
The bottom drawer of his desk.
My heart is still thumping, and my breathing is uneven. I crouch down behind his desk, looking for the bottom right drawer. I try the handle and it’s locked.
I silently curse in my mind. How could I have been so naïve? Of course, he’d lock the drawer that has his valuables.
But where’s the key?
I look around the room once more, looking for any clue as to where the key might be. I glance at a painting of my mother when she was younger before they were married. She’s smiling in the painting, her face filled with joy. I can’t even remember the last time I saw her smile.
Seeing the painting, I swallow a lump in my throat. How could she have been so happy then? Now she’s just sad, although she still tries to make me smile. If only she’d smile herself.
I inspect her face closer, her caramel skin toned perfectly for the light. Her dark green eyes are alight with joy, and her dark brown hair is put in a braid over her shoulder.
She looks so beautiful, sitting there looking like a queen. I can see now why my father fell madly in love with her. She’s the type of woman I’d like to meet someday. One that’s caring and kind, beautiful yet regal.
Then I look closer at the painting. Something’s wrong with her nose…
The shape is weird, her nostrils in a strange position. It’s hard to see in the dim light, so I grab the candle on the other side of the room and hold it closer to the painting.
The bottom of her nose is darker than the rest of the tones in the painting, and when I put my finger up to it I see why.
Her nose is made of metal.
My brow creases and I touch the painting again.
“Oh, you clever, clever, man,” I whisper to myself and pull the key out of the painting.
With the key in hand now, I walk back over to the desk. I crouch down once again and unlock the bottom drawer of the desk.
I pull the drawer out, laying the candle on the ground beside me. Pulling the small chest out, I open it to see what’s inside.
There are so many golden ducats; they seem to glow even in the dim light of the candle. There are also jewels, sapphires glowing their deep blue, rubies a crimson red, and emeralds a bright green.
I put the chest in my pack and then put the pack on my back, a small jingling sound coming from the chest.
Then I put the drawer back into place, the key in its spot on my mother’s nose. I leave the office just as I found it, except for the missing chest.
Hopefully, he won’t find it missing until morning. The sun has already set, so I know he’ll be going out to the fields any time now to see that I haven’t even touched the field he told me to plow.
This is my chance. I can get my things and my mother and I can get the hell out of here.
I enter my bedroom for the last time, looking at the ornate walls. I won’t miss this place, not one bit.
But I will miss my stuff if I don’t get them soon. I sigh as I look at the small desk in the corner of the room, covered with sketches of the farm whenever I had free time.
There’s a charcoal sketch of a lotus flower, one I found in the pond last year. I thought it looked beautiful, so I returned the next day with my papyrus paper and charcoal pencil.
There’s a sketch of a bull sitting in the shade, sprawled out and safe from the heat of the sun. I thought of how relaxed it looked, hoping one day I could be as relaxed as that bull.
I grab a few of my best works, putting my sketchbook and drawing pencils in my bag as well.
As I’m putting them in my bag, I hear a floorboard creak, the vibration of it seeming deafening to me, although it’s as silent as a pin drop.
I straighten up, unnerved as I prepare to turn around.
Is it my father? Did he find out that I stole his chest? If he did, I’m so dead.
I slowly turn around and look at the figure in the doorway.
It’s not my father, but my mother. She’s standing in the doorway, looking small and afraid. “J-Jian?” she asks.
“Mother,” I whisper, “We have to leave. Now. Father said if I didn’t finish plowing one of the fields, I…I wouldn’t be welcome…here. I have to go. We have to go and get far away from him.”
My mother walks silently into my room, the vibrations of her footsteps so silent I can barely feel them.
“What?” she asks, “Your father surely wouldn’t have said that. Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”
“Mother,” I say, trying to calm myself down, “I know you like to defend him, but be serious. Do you think he would say something like that?”
My mother slowly nods, sadness filling her face. “Yes,” she says quietly, “He would.”
“Then you know you have to come with me,” I say, holding her cold hands in mine. We have to get out of here now before he realizes that I stole from him.
My mother gives me a sad smile, not nearly like the one she had in the painting. “I’m sorry, Jian. But I…I can’t go with you.”
My face falls. “Why?” I ask, my voice breaking.
My mother looks away from me, lowering her eyes to the ground. I now realize how many grays are in her hair, and the wrinkles on her face.
“Because, Jian…” she says quietly, “If I leave, your father won’t be able to deal with himself. He’s already heavy on the liquor as it is. If he keeps up…he’ll…he’ll die. I can’t leave him alone with his drinks, even if he hurts me because of it. I love him, Jian. He’s a good man, you just don’t see him for who he really is.”
I let go of her hands, turning away from her. “You want me to believe that the man who’s hated me my entire life, is a good man? That you’d rather stay here with him, even…even though he hurts you, rather than run away from him with me?” I ask, the guilt and fear filling my gut faster than I can stop it.
She loves him more than me, and will even keep herself in a dangerous situation rather than escape it with me.
“I’m sorry, Jian,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder, “But you have to go on your own path now. You have to go out into the real world. Without your father,” and she says even quieter, “And without me.”
“Why?” I ask, closing my eyes as the tears threaten to fall, “Why won’t you come with me? Why…why won’t you save yourself from him?”
“Jian…” my mother tries, “You don’t understand. You haven’t known him as long as I have. You can’t see the good in him.”
“Yeah?” I ask, “Or do you refuse to see what he’s really like?”
My mother backs away from me, looking hurt. She grips both her hands together, clutched to her chest. She still won’t look at me, the stray hairs falling into her face.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly, “It’s just…I feel like he…he hates me.”
She nods. “I know,” she whispers, as she turns away from me and towards the door. “I should get some food for you, Jian.”
“No,” I say to her, “It’s fine. I can pay for it once I get into town.”
“Okay,” she says to me, then runs up to me and hugs me tight, and the tears now begin to fall. I’ve never been away from my mother for longer than a few hours a day, and she’s the only person I feel who loves me.
“I love you, Jian,” she whispers into my shirt, a foot shorter than me, “Don’t you ever forget that.”
“I do too, mother,” I say back as I rub her back, my voice breaking, “And I’ll come back for you. When this is all over, when…when he’s calmed down, I’ll come back for you.”
My mother doesn’t answer and instead begins to walk out of my room. “You…you should go before your father comes back,” she says, and before I know it she’s left my room.
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I take one final look back at my father’s mansion, no longer my home.
Not like it ever was.
I turn away from looking at it, my body shaking with adrenaline.
I feel the vibrations of my father storming over to me before I see him. It’s almost deafening to me, and I turn around and see him sprinting down the stairs of his house, his face furious.
“Jian!” he shouts to me, and my eyes widen in fear.
I’ve never been so afraid of my father before. I thought for sure he’d kill me.
I stand there, my body rigid with fear as he rushes toward me. “You!” he shouts at me, “You stole from me? How dare you!”
I wish I was braver. I wish I could stand my ground against him, but the old fear of my father is still in me. As I stand there, frozen in fear, ready to run, I hear a voice.
Jian Aarden, it says, you may not think so now, but you are braver than you think. You have been chosen.
As my father continues to run toward me, the scene fades away. All I see is a tall figure in front of me, made up of whirling shadows. Its form continues to shift, always changing.
Then I’m under the surface of the earth, the earth pressing in on me. It continues to squeeze me until the air feels like it’s caught in my lungs. I’m panicking. I can’t get out. I can’t get out. Can’t…breathe.
Then I woke up. It’s the middle of the night, but I see my father before me, his body stuck under the earth I must have trapped him in.
He struggles, trying to use his powers to get out of the prison I’ve made for him.
But I don’t think. I don’t wait for him to get out. I just run.
I clear a path for me under the earth, opening a tunnel under the surface.
“Hey!” I hear my father shout at me, “Get back here!”
But I ignore him. I close up the opening of the tunnel behind me, and I dig my way away from him, running away from my father, my mother, and my home.172Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrf0b1hFuWo
